


Danishes

by WildnessBecomesYou



Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: Baking, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Mentions of Cancer, mildred is not a baker but goddammit shes gonna try, the babies are being cute okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26819431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildnessBecomesYou/pseuds/WildnessBecomesYou
Summary: Gwendolyn likes danishes, and the bakery down the street has not been good about them lately. Mildred tries to take that on herself. She has...mixed success.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Comments: 20
Kudos: 136





	Danishes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winonasawyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winonasawyer/gifts).



> Requested by the lovely Winonasawyer, I hope you enjoy!! 
> 
> (Also, did anyone else notice that Mildred wears the same shirt when she’s being fed oysters as when she confesses her love to Gwendolyn?? No?? Just me?????)

Gwendolyn Briggs deserves nice things. 

It’s a truth that, to Mildred Ratched, seems completely obvious. Gwendolyn only deserves the best. 

The quality of danishes has gone down at the bakery ten minutes down main since Mildred has stopped working at the hospital. She’s not sure if Gwendolyn just knew how to pick out the right danishes, or whether the pastry chef has changed, or whether a change in season has caused the decline, but they aren’t as good. 

And Gwendolyn likes them for breakfast— they’re one of the few things she can still stomach a week into chemotherapy. 

Mildred is a little afraid that if they don’t stay up to snuff at that bakery, Gwendolyn will stop eating them. And she needs her strength to withstand the chemo. Besides, she thinks, smiling to herself as she peels the apples, when they leave for Mexico, she’ll need to make sure there’s danishes somewhere. 

It’s only been a few days since she brought it up to Gwendolyn, the idea of leaving for Mexico, but it hasn’t escaped Mildred that there are suitcases out now. That Gwendolyn has started to finger at jackets and blouses and trousers and ask, “do you think I’ll need this?”

Mildred usually says no to the suit jackets— if it were up to her, Gwendolyn Briggs would never work another day in her life. But there are a few she really loves, so Mildred naturally says yes to those. 

There had been the question of what to do with the house when they left. Trevor had brought Andrew over for dinner one weekend, and while Mildred was in the kitchen with Gwendolyn’s ex-husband, she’d had a sudden idea. 

“Would you and Andrew like to stay here?” 

Trevor had paused, looked up at her. “Now? I think we’re both good to drive home, we haven’t had that much, Millie.” 

Mildred was surprised her stomach didn’t sink at the name. “No,” she chuckled. “I mean, when Gwendolyn and I leave for Mexico.” 

Trevor stared at her, and she shifted a little uncomfortably, scrubbing at the dish in her hand. “It wouldn’t make sense to sell the house, really, and you have a stake to it to, it was— is, I hope you still feel like— your home, and it— it would be nice to give Gwendolyn a place to leave the clothes she doesn’t need—“ 

Trevor’s hand landed on the counter where she can see it. He’s a quick learner, just like Gwendolyn, knows she doesn’t always like to be touched. When Mildred looked up, he was smiling at her. 

“I’d love that, Millie.” His eyes were a little watery, and Mildred set down the dish in the sudsy water, dried her hands, reached up to cradle his face. “You just let me know when you and Gwenny leave, and we’ll be here to pack you up and see you off.” 

“You’ve been so good to us, Trevor,” Mildred said, feeling her throat pinch a little. His hand had come up to wrap around her wrist, and they’d shared a quiet, smiling moment. 

Mildred is pretty sure she’s used too little flour. Or too much water. Something doesn’t seem quite right, but this is the exact same recipe Trevor had given her.

She thinks. 

But it’s been four hours since she started, and the apples are chopped and spiced, and the cream cheese has been mixed to that fluffy spreadable consistency. So she takes out the dough, unwraps it— tries to, it’s definitely too sticky, she ends up scraping it all onto the counter with a spoon. She sighs, wipes her hand on her apron, and reaches for the flour. 

An hour and a half later, she thinks she’s got danishes that are ready to bake. The oven is finally up to 425, so she slides the cheese danishes in and settles down at the kitchen table with a cup of water to watch them bake. 

She takes them out after the recommended ten and six minutes, and then it hits her— 

She was supposed to turn down the temperature after ten minutes. The bottoms of all of the danishes are burnt, and the danishes on the back edge of the sheet look more chocolate brown than golden. 

She groans. There’s no way they will taste good. 

But she still has the apple ones, so she slides those onto another pan, slides that into the oven. After ten minutes, she turns the oven down. After two minutes, the temperature reading in the oven hasn’t changed, so she props the oven door open just slightly and lets them go for an extra two minutes, just in case. 

The kitchen is very warm when those eight minutes are finished. 

“Mildred? I’m home!” 

Mildred curses softly and hastily brushes her hands on her apron. “I’m in the kitchen!” She takes a deep breath, glancing at the danishes. None of them look quite right. And she spots herself in the reflection of the window and good Lord, she is covered in flour. How did that happen? 

But she hears the soft padding of bare feet, and she turns and Gwendolyn is there.

She’s got a smile on her face, but she looks so tired. She’d chosen a purple head scarf today, and it makes her skin look a little more lively than it could have. Mildred goes to her, wraps her arms around her love’s waist. 

“How was it?” 

Gwendolyn sighs, leans her head forward to rest on Mildred’s shoulder. Mildred holds her closer. “That,” Gwendolyn murmurs, “was exhausting. I don’t think I’m going to be able to drive myself to these much longer.” 

“Then I’ll drive you,” Mildred responds immediately, “or we can call Andrew or Trevor. You’re not in this alone.”

Gwendolyn straightens up a bit, leans her cheek against Mildred’s. Her arms squeeze gently around Mildred’s shoulders. “I know,” she sighs. “I just don’t like feeling like a burden.”

“You’re not a burden.” It’s an old argument now, one they’ve had before and one that Mildred is sure they will have again. But it needs to be said; she’s not a burden, and Mildred loves her, would drive her to the ends of the Earth if she had to. 

Mexico is no problem. 

“Besides, we’ll be finished with this course soon enough,” she adds, “and then it’s off to Mexico, where I’m sure you’ll start to feel much better.” 

Gwendolyn hums. It’s not rejection and not acceptance, somewhere between the two. But she changes the subject. “How did you get covered in flour?” 

Mildred sighs, pulls back the tiniest bit, braces Gwendolyn against her. “I, uhm… I tried to make something.” 

Gwendolyn squints at her, but she’s smiling. “Tried?” 

“Sit,” Mildred commands, pulling out a chair for her. Blessedly, Gwendolyn obeys. Probably too tired to argue. 

It takes Mildred a few moments to find a cheese danish that doesn’t look just absolutely awful. She slides it onto a plate. When she comes to the apple danishes, she realizes— 

“Oh, I don’t think these are fully cooked…” 

“So you did cook?” Mildred turns to look at Gwendolyn. She’s got a fond look on her face, a smile like the first bloom of spring, like the feel of bare feet touching grass. 

“Shush,” Mildred says, and her smile only widens. “Yes, I did.” 

She takes one of the apple danishes from the back of the pan— it looks at least pale brown, if not golden, but it’s not the cream color of the rest of the pastries. It joins the cheese danish on the plate, and Mildred takes them both over to Gwendolyn. 

Gwendolyn blinks at the pastries for a moment, then looks up at Mildred. Mildred can’t help the nervous bubbling of her stomach, the pitter-patter of her heart. She bites her lip and twines her fingers together, pushing one thumb against the other palm and rubbing back and forth. 

“You… you made me danishes?” There’s confusion in her voice, maybe a little surprise, Mildred isn’t quite sure. 

It spikes her nerves, and she starts fiddling with the flour dust on her apron. “Well, the ones at the bakery aren’t quite what they used to be, and you like danishes, and you _do_ need to eat, and when we—“

“Come here,” Gwendolyn says, and it’s fond. Mildred’s head snaps up to see Gwendolyn’s hand stretched out to her. She moves closer, kneeling at Gwendolyn’s feet, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to it. “My darling girl, my sweetness,” Gwendolyn murmurs, fingers brushing feather-light over Mildred’s cheek and jaw, “what did I do to deserve you?” 

“Not sure you’ll say that after you taste them. Might completely put you off danishes,” Mildred mumbles, trying to disguise the fear. 

“Nonsense.” Gwendolyn takes a bite of the apple danish as if to prove her wrong, chews slowly. “Well, that’s… these are just a little undercooked,” she says, and she’s holding back a smile, but her eyes are all crinkled up. 

Mildred groans and lets her head thump down to Gwendolyn’s thigh as the older woman chuckles. She’s quiet for another moment, hand in Mildred’s hair. “The cheese one is wonderful though, just a bit burnt on the bottom.” 

“The cheese ones are all toast,” Mildred grumbles into the fabric of her trouser, “and that was probably the most cooked apple danish.” 

Gwendolyn tugs lightly on Mildred’s hair and the younger woman looks up. Gwendolyn is still chewing. She swallows and reaches for Mildred’s abandoned water. “And now you know what needs doing the next time you want to make these.” She gives Mildred a smile and she can’t help but smile back, even if it pricks the backs of her eyes with tears. “You’re such a sweet thing, making these for me.” 

“‘M not,” Mildred argues weakly. But Gwendolyn’s thumb brushes across her cheek and she leans into it, and she doesn’t mind losing this argument. “Do it ‘cause I love you,” she acquiesces. 

“Mmm, and I love you. Now come up here and kiss me.”

And Mildred does. She tastes of sweet pastry and fruit and, Mildred thinks, perhaps this is what love tastes like.

**Author's Note:**

> Et voila! Hope y'all enjoyed. Leave a note below and let me know if you have your own request!


End file.
